For the Beauty of the Earth   HoundxEarth
by femme4jack
Summary: DarkFic:  Hound's lover is in danger, and he takes matters into his own hands.  New Chapter: "Guardian"  Hound from Spike W's point of view.  New rating  R
1. For the Beauty of the Earth

**Title: ** For the Beauty of the Earth  
**Author: **femme4jack on livejournal  
**Beta:** fierceawakening (I have so much fun chatting about Autobot and Decepticon culture with you. Thanks so much for the awesome feedback!)  
**Pairing:** Hound/Earth  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** AU, OOC (Dark Hound), Dark Fic  
**Continuity:** G1 AU ('cause my Prowl doesn't die in no stinkin' attack on a shuttle, that's why)  
**Musical Inspriation:** Sting - A Thousand Years (though Guns n Roses - Welcome to the Jungle was in my head, too.)  
**Notes:** Written for the livejournal tf_rare_pairing Feb. 2011 challenge. _I really did start out writing a sweet Hound/Nature story, but then DarkHound showed up and had other ideas. I have this notion in my head that mechs all have core code associated with their intended function, and that it is impossible to change that code without doing major processor damage. It all works out fine as long as you are part of a cohort that balances you and you can fulfill your function. Problem is in a war mechs end up in lots of situations that conflict with their core coding and leads to all sorts of issues. In this case, Hound's core coding is dedicated to the guardianship of planetary biospheres, and without the balance of the other members of his original team, it leads to "issues". _

* * *

**For the Beauty of the Earth  
**

* * *

Hound couldn't name the moment it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth. Not the cultures, music and media like Jazz, or a single individual like Bumblebee. Not even the human race like Prime. If someone had asked him, he would have admitted that while Spike, Sparkplug, Chip, and Carly were nice enough, he had a great deal of ambivalence for the planet's dominant species that seemed intent on destroying the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid optics on. No, he was in love with the planet itself.

He'd been originally commissioned as a biologist, a member of an exploratory team. Many of the resources Cybertron needed were found on planets that already supported organic life. His official function was determining how to engage in resource extraction without doing irreversible damage to a planet's biodiversity. His core coding was guardian, not for individuals, but rather for whole species, ecosystems, and planets.

War had broken out before he'd been sent on his first expedition, and he never made it off Cybertron until he was loaded onto the Ark like so many others: in stasis from lack of energon. Prior to slipping into stasis, his memories were of nothing but battle upon battle on a world that felt dead to him. His core code yearned for the kinds of life that were impossible on Cybertron, even had planet not been devastated by war.

He yearned for water-filled cells rather than energon-feeding nanites. He ached for muscles and organs rather than armor-clad pumps, hydraulics, conduits and laser core. He hungered to feed off a warm, close sun.

He hated Cybertron, though his good nature hid it from all but his closest friends. It was devoid of all he had been created to protect and care for.

When he woke on Earth and drew in his first cooling vent of microbe-laden air, he nearly overloaded with joy. Life was _everywhere_: in the soil, the air, on every surface including his own. His spark sang to the the symbiotic symphony as mycorrhizal mycelium nurtured the roots of the great Redwoods that would eventually be food for other fungi. The very cells that made up the more complex animals were in and of themselves tiny animals, powered by mitochondria that had at one point in evolutionary history been yet another independent life-form.

He spent orns doing nothing aside from sitting, analyzing the universe found in a handful of soil. On a planet this close to a star, his scout upgrades allowed him to go without fuel for extended periods, his energon converter happily transforming the Sol's radiation into a form that powered his nanites. He did not lack company; the caress of the wind or the current in a stream were more sensual than the touch of a mech.

* * *

Hound couldn't name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth, and that to love Earth meant he could no longer be an Autobot, though none knew his loyalties had changed.

He could not be an Autobot with Jazz's love of human culture, or Bumblebee's love of a single human, or even Prime's love of the human race. He could not be an Autobot because humans were the single greatest threat to the planet he loved, the first world where he could finally fulfill his function. Instead of the careful and efficient harvest of resources his own kind were adept at, the humans were ravaging entire ecosystems with their oil spills, toxic waste, and pollutants. Their farmlands were a waste of chemical fertilizers and pesticides that literally killed the living soil before artificially stimulating its corpse to grow dead food. One could not hear the buzz of an insect of the singing of a bird for thousands of acres. There was a region of China where honeybees had gone extinct due to human agricultural toxins, forcing people to hand-pollinate their fruit trees, flower by flower, if they wanted to be able to earn a living or eat.

The Decepticons had nothing on the humans when it came to destruction. They, at least, were efficient in their resource harvesting. Decepticons didn't blow the tops off mountains to get at what was inside. No Cybertronian would clog streams with toxic tailings when one could harvest more energon from small hydroelectric generators in water that flowed freely.

The Constructicons had once built an ingenious system to efficiently convert the surface motion of ocean waves into energon. It harmed no living being, and yet the Autobots had destroyed it. Meanwhile, oil rigs rusted and replaced the reefs their spills destroyed, while new ones were built to feed human greed.

The humans gladly shared the products of their pillage with the Autobots, and Hound could hardly swallow the energon, knowing the wounds left behind. At least the 'Cons had the decency to treat human fuel for what it was – the drug of choice for Earth's delinquent children who had ripped off their mother to feed their addiction. Megatron simply confiscated the humans' drug and made use of it rather than praising the addicts for their generosity when they shared.

* * *

Hound couldn't name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth, and that if he did not act soon, it would be too late for his blue-green lover.

He first picked out those that would be spared – several hunter-gatherer bands that knew how to live in balance, who remembered that they were a part of their living planet. Their populations were small by necessity, and they would remain in the upper Amazon region. He would watch them carefully over the vorns to make sure they did not shift toward agriculture, the beginning of the end for Earth's most destructive children.

Most of the Autobots had left the planet, trusting the humans to continue sending the energon their way as well-behaved, grateful allies should, especially if they wanted protection from the remaining Decepticons and other, more frightening dangers. He had remained behind, the subject of good-natured ribbing on the part of his friends who believed him so bonded to the Witwicky family that he couldn't bear to leave. That did bring up one glitch in his plan – what to do about Spike and Carly's descendents? They did consider him their friend, and he enjoyed taking Daniel's children and grandchildren out exploring, sharing with them the beauty of a planet they took for granted. He shook his head sadly, but remembered that his guardianship was not of individuals, but rather the biosphere itself. The Witwicky descendants would not have the skills to survive the world that was coming.

Normally when an indigenous population went out of balance on a Cybertronian colony the protocol was to release a tailored virus that inhibited their ability to reproduce. Natural death and limited reproduction brought the population under control in a few generations. As patient as he was, Hound could not afford to wait that long. The humans would notice a dramatic decrease in fertility, and they would contact Prime for help. No, it had to be something fast. He made changes to a deadly airborne virus that would appear to be a natural mutation. The groups he had selected for survival were the most isolated in the world. He would monitor them closely, and if there were any chance it was spreading to them, he could arrest it with a nanite-based vaccine that would alter their immune systems before disappearing without a trace. The primitives who saw him wandering the rough terrain incorporated him into their mythology, as they did with other parts of their environment they could not explain.

Those few humans who lived off world were still a question, but if they returned, he would decide how to deal with them based on their actions.

* * *

"The mass extinction of our allies was unfortunate, but we have seen it happen before on planets where the population was so obviously out of balance. It was an epidemic waiting to happen. Fortunately, a few small bands of class 2 primitives survived, so humanity has not gone extinct. I advise no contact with them to allow normal development without our interference until they reach at least class 6. We now have teams in place to engage in resource extraction using far more efficient and sustainable means. I see no reason not to claim Earth as part of the empire. If the primitives emerge from class 2 functioning, we will already be a well-established presence on their planet and can act accordingly."

Prowl gave his report in the same steady, quiet and factual manner that he used whether reporting on atmospheric conditions, supply-chain logistics, or mass extinction. Only a slight tremor to his sensor wings indicated anything other than calm acceptance of the recent events on Earth.

"And how was Hound when you located him?" Optimus asked, his own deep baritone weary and static-laced.

"Nearly incoherent with grief, Prime," Jazz responded in a defeated tone so different from his usual animated voice. He had taken the die-off of humanity hard. "He was holdin' the remains of Daniel's grandkids, an' refused to let 'em go 'til First Aid put him in temporary stasis. When we brought him back online, he'd calmed down an' insisted on buryin' 'em, and all the descendants of our friends, sayin' they'd be a part of the soil. He'll plant a garden over their remains so others could remember them by enjoyin'it, spendin' time with what their bodies helped t' grow."

"It sounds like a fitting memorial to them. What of the rest of the human remains? Do we need disposal teams?" Prime asked gravely.

"Indeed. Hound suggests dealing with them the Cybertronian way," Prowl responded, a hand on his sparkmate's shoulder. "Where it is environmentally safe to do so, simply allow the animal, fungal and plant life take care of them naturally. In the larger population centers, the decomposition rate will be artificially increased, allowing nature to retake the cities far more quickly than would otherwise happen."

"Hound's gonna stay on in his original core function: ensurin' that our resource extraction doesn't harm the planet," Jazz added more brightly. There was no doubt that the scout would thoroughly enjoy finally fulfilling his programmed function. "He's in love with that planet, and it will help him with his grief over the Witwicky kids."

* * *

Hound couldn't name the moment when it happened, but at some point he realized that he loved Earth. He especially loved a single garden where he was currently flat on his back, soaking up the sunlight. His new photosynthetic armor could turn the star's radiation into fuel without the energy-wasting process involved in traditional conversion. His hands caressed the dirt around him, reveling in the universe contained in a single handful of soil. This particular universe contained the rich nutrients provided by decomposed human remains. He brought the soil to his chem sensor and simply enjoyed the scent of the rich loam rather than doing a complex analysis. His intake took in a vent of cooling air, and microbes that had helped break the humans down became part of his own systems.


	2. Guardian

**Title:** Guardian  
**Author: ** femme4jack . livejournal . com  
**Beta:** Antepathy - thank you SO much  
**Continuity:** G1 **  
Rating: ** R  
**Warnings:** Xeno (mech/human male tactile, no penetration), slash, a shade dub-con, sticky, cussing, mud fetish  
**Musical Inspiration:** Shawn Mullins - Light you Up (cause my mind goes to xeno every time I hear this song, and because to me it is a song about sharing pleasure without strings attached.  
**Summary:** The more Spike learns about Hound, the more he likes him.  
**Note:** Companion fic to "For the Beauty of the Earth" from Spike's POV. Xenophilia is only in the last section, so can be read without if you wish. Can be read without the companion fic, but there are pieces that will have much more meaning with it. Also, part of my relentless pursuit of finding logical reasons for sticky interfacing to exist ;)

* * *

**Guardian**

* * *

"Hop in, Spike, and I'll give you the ride of your life!"

That first time Hound invited me for a drive, my heart went to my throat. Watching the explosion of a million parts reform into an Army jeep made something get hot deep in my belly, and I jumped in with the breathless abandon of a kid living his dreams.

He had such a friendly voice, and I couldn't resist, not that I would've even if he'd sounded like Huffer or Gears. But his voice made me grin like an idiot. It was the voice of someone who didn't have anything to hide. Perhaps even more than Bumblebee, Hound seemed like the kind of Autobot where what you saw was what you got. He was laidback, fun-loving, and happiest when his chassis was covered with mud while recharging under an open sky. He genuinely seemed to like hanging out with us mere mortals.

I was so wide-eyed around these huge alien robots, amazed that any of them wanted a dweeb like me around for any reason, much less wanted to show me their kick-ass laser rifles, disrupter cloaks, holograms, and other shit that blew my mind. I could have just kissed Sparkplug for convincing them to let us stay. Dad just had that way about him. He'd managed to convince the powers that be to let his 14-year-old kid live on the oil platform when I started getting into trouble at Uncle Ron's after mom died. I wasn't surprised that he somehow sweet-talked the Autobots into making us their consultants on human culture (like we were good representatives of _that_).

We went off-road, and he showed me the places he'd already explored, his alien tires and something about his subspaced mass leaving no trace of our passing. We ended up in a box canyon, rich with desert reds and browns as we looked up the striated cliff and he explained my own planet's geological history to me. There was a spring at the end, surrounded by cottonwoods, and for a while we just lay down on our backs, soaking up the dry desert heat. Suddenly, Hound pulled me into a shadow, covering my mouth with a finger. When I tried to ask him why, he just shook his head and pointed up the canyon. A cougar was on its way to the spring for a drink. The green mech did something with his EM field to keep the magnificent cat from noticing us, and the mountain lion sat down like a housecat and began licking his coat clean.

I looked up at the green mech and saw a soft smile on his faceplates as he watched the scene, as though he had suddenly caught his own kid doing something wonderful and didn't want to give himself away, or it would stop. He glanced down at me and winked an optic, and for a second that smile was turned on me, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

From then on I was hooked. Bumblebee might have been my best friend, but Hound became my mentor, an older brother, or maybe an extra awesome uncle. I didn't need the Boy Scouts when I had him to take me camping and exploring, teaching me about my own planet.

* * *

When I turned sixteen, I spent a couple weeks with Hound exploring the Lost Coast of Northern California. It was a place you couldn't get to by car (not that it stopped him), and it was rare to see backpackers there in the winter. Hound had a thing for the storms that came in over the Pacific, and could sit for hours (days, probably, if I hadn't been there) just feeling the wind and watching the waves. Mechs run almost uncomfortably hot, so I was in no danger of freezing as I sat on his lap, shielded from the worst of the wind by his hands. We were by a cliff watching the massive waves crash into the rocks below, occasionally talking on his comm frequency (and wasn't that just the coolest addition to my brain Ratchet could ever have made?).

::Have you always been a scout?:: I asked him out of the blue.

::Wasn't sparked as one, but it fit my primary function well enough. Just had to add some upgrades and a bit of code, and then it was a good fit,:: he answered in his open, friendly tone.

::What were you sparked to be?::

Hound was quiet for a moment and I thought maybe he wasn't going to answer.

::Best translation would be a combination of a biologist and a guardian,:: he finally answered, and for the first time I heard something in his tone that told me there was more to him than he let on.

::What kind of guardian? Of new sparks, like Ironhide?::

::No:: he chuckled out loud, though I couldn't hear it over the wind, just felt his chassis vibrating pleasantly. ::Guardian of biospheres. I was sparked as part of a mining cohort. We would have spent thousands of vorns finding planets with the raw materials and energy resources Cybertron needed. My job was to become a guardian for whatever planet we were currently on and make sure that none of our activities caused permanent damage to the biosphere. 'Cons thought it was a waste of energy, that organic life wasn't worth protecting. That was a big part of the war – who controlled energon production and distribution. The Council wanted to be in control of resource extraction so organic planets wouldn't get fragged up. But there were a lot of mechs starving, and Megatron wanted to take matters into his own hands, even if that meant there wasn't a scrap of life left on a planet after he was done with it.::

It was the most Hound had ever said to me in a single sitting, and I was beyond fascinated.

:: So what kind of planets were you the guardian of?::

::None,:: he said flatly. ::The war broke out before my cohort ever finished training. We were all modified for war. I'm the only one left. The rest were massive mining mechs, much better suited to the frontlines. 'Cons targeted the largest of us early on. Only a few left now.::

I leaned against his hot plating and patted the armor over his spark. ::I'm sorry 'bout your cohort, dude. If you were all sparked at the same time to work together, that sort of made them your family, right?::

Hound looked down at me with his signature smile that made me feel warmer than his plating. ::Yep, Spike, that's what they were, or as close as your language can get. Thanks for understanding that. It was a long time ago...longer than your planet has been in existence. They missed most of a horrible war, and they are part of Primus's spark now.::

We watched the waves crash until it was too dark for me to see (his optics did not have that disadvantage). He transformed into his alt, with the top up, my sleeping bag pulled out of subspace and ready on a back seat that hadn't been there before. His usual open form was so airtight that I couldn't even hear the wind.

As I was drifting off to sleep, a thought occurred to me.

"Hound?" I asked, not sure if he was recharging.

"Yep?" he asked through his radio, good humored even if I had woken him up.

"You could be the guardian for Earth. I mean…if that was you primary function and all. You could help us learn how do stuff without messing up the planet so much. Dad was complaining about how Reagan took those solar collectors off of the White House and cut the money for alternative energy research.* Maybe you could help convince them to start it up again, get our scientists to work with Perceptor and Wheeljack. They'd listen to you, and to Prime. I mean, they'd do anything for you guys."

Hound was quiet again, unusually quiet.

"I am this planet's guardian, Spike. I have been since I came out of stasis. It is my primary function. I can't be on an organic world and not be its guardian."

"Awesome! Then how about we take a trip to the White House. I've always wanted to meet the President. You'd be like a VIP."

Hound chuckled, bouncing on his shocks, but it wasn't as warm as his laughter normally was. "We've actually been working on that all along. We've shared technology, and some of it's getting used. Problem is, the oil companies, like the one that ran that rig you and your dad were on, have deep pockets and a lot of power. They _want_ your kind dependent on them. It's more than just science. It's politics. Prime is the one to handle that, and he is trying, but we can't make humans do what they don't want to do."

"Oh…well…Reagan's only president for another couple years. Maybe the next guy … or gal, Carly would kill me if I assumed it would be a guy, maybe that one will be easier to convince."

"Maybe, Spike," Hound said noncommittally. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll clean up the trash the blew up on the beach and look at the tide pools."

"Ok, big guy. Sweet dreams."

"You too, kid."

* * *

The next morning I saw what he meant. Despite being on the most isolated stretch of coastline on the Continental US, tons of trash had washed up in the storm. We found everything from plastic bags to old tires to insulation and roofing materials. Hound found a dead shore bird tangled up in those plastic rings that held six-packs together, and it was the first time I'd seen him angry when a Decepticon wasn't around.

"Why would people throw stuff like that in the ocean?" I asked him as I continued to pick plastic bags and beer cans.

"They didn't, or at least that isn't how most of it got out there. They threw it in their trashcans. A lot of trash gets transported on barges and not all of it makes it to the landfill. Not to mention some nations simply dump their trash at sea," he explained as he gently freed the dead bird from the plastic rings that had choked her before throwing her back into the ocean.

"Oh," I said quietly, not sure what to say, suddenly ashamed of my own species.

We continued cleaning up, stopping from time to time to examine tide pools. Hound used his hologram to show me the details that my own eyes couldn't pick up.

"Have you ever heard of the North Pacific Trash Vortex?" he suddenly asked.

"The what?"

"It's a place where currents come together, forming a vortex half the size of Oregon. Plastics and other kinds of slow-degrading trash are accumulating there, swirling around and snaring marine life. They break down into smaller and smaller bits that animals ingest, or they can recombine into new masses of plastic filaments that are more effective than any net. It acts as a toxin magnet, and animals that ingest the tiny particles of broken down plastic are slowly poisoned to death. Over 500,000 sea birds and half that many marine mammals and turtles die every year because they get entangled or poisoned."**

"That's insane, Hound! How come I've never heard about it? We have to do something about it." I was freaked out. I couldn't believe that something like that existed and I'd never heard of it, and that just throwing away bags and bottles and six-pack rings was making that happen. I'd honestly never really given a second thought about where my trash went, though it did occur to me that the Ark produced no trash at all. Everything was reused or broken down and made into something new, even the trash we humans produced. They had even started composting our food waste, which Carly gladly took over.

"Seaspray and I are going there next week. We will clean it up. Would you like to come?"

"You need to ask? Of course I'll come. Dad can make it one of my homeschool projects. God, Hound! It makes me feel sick inside."

I sat down on the beach and rubbed my temples with the heels of my hands, feeling ill just imagining such a place.

"It will form again, won't it?" I asked quietly.

"Yep. In very little time, too," Hound said sadly, sitting down next to me and running his finger down my back. "I estimate with the increase in plastic use happening around the world that it will be the size of Texas in twenty years or so, even if we keep cleaning it up, and I don't know how often Prime will spare me to do that. Things are quiet with the 'Cons right now, but they won't always be."

"Then I'll do something about it!" I promised, getting to my feet, picking up trash in a fury just to do something with how angry and ashamed I felt. "I'll write letters. I'll tell other kids about it. I'll call the President every day until he listens to me. I'll write the UN. Optimus could pressure them."

"There's a lot of things that Optimus has to pressure them about, Spike. He has to choose his battles."

"Well, I'm gonna to bring tons of pictures back and make a brochure about it or something. Kids my age have started organizations and causes. If I can go into battle with you guys, I can certainly battle the government and people and get them to stop throwing away plastic, or using it so much."

Hound gave me that smile again, and I felt like he was really proud of me. It felt good…really good to see the approval in his optics, though there was sadness there, too.

I turned back to the ocean, letting the salt water breeze bring me back to my center, the way Hound had taught me, giving myself over to my senses to quiet my mind.

It wasn't working so well, though. A thought kept circling around in my head, just like the trash in that vortex. "You know, I can admit this to you. I don't think I could say it to Dad or Carly, or even Chip, but sometimes I think the planet would be better off without us humans."

Hound looked down at me, frowning slightly.

"Do you really believe that, Spike?" he asked carefully.

"Well, if I think about it objectively, it's true. I mean, all of the problems on this world are 'cause of the stuff we do. They say we have enough nuclear weapons to destroy the planet over and over again. And all of the environmental stuff you and I talk about – acid rain, toxic waste and oil spills and stuff? It's all our doing. Even before our population got so huge we were hunting animals to extinction. The Earth wouldn't miss us if we were gone. She'd probably breathe a huge sigh of relief."

I leaned against him, looking for comfort and getting it from his warm, broad finger on my back again. "I can't think about it for very long because I want to believe we can make a difference, change things for the better, that it isn't too late. At least we have the 'Cons to fight now. Maybe that will bring people together and get them to start solving all the messes we've made."

Hound didn't say anything at all. He just stared out at the winter-gray ocean and continued to stroke my back, his EM sending out a soothing frequency like it did when he was helping an injured animal.

* * *

I was with Hound the first time I realized the walls between my alien friends and me were a product of my imagination, that to them, sharing pleasure was as normal between friends as sharing a cube of energon. I was already used to them knowing way more about my body than I was comfortable about, and the offers to 'help me out' were coming with mortifying regularity. I thought it was some sort of cruel joke. Bumblebee, at least, understood how uncomfortable the teasing made me, and kept his mockery to appropriate topics, like my continued failure with and every other girl.

I was really looking forward to my annual camping trip with Hound. Wasn't sure it was going to happen because of recent Decepticon activity, but once we'd promised Prime that we'd stay close enough for communications and quick extraction in an emergency, we were sent on our way.

He always managed to show me a new place, even within a hundred miles of Mt. Saint Hilary. This time we went to some geothermal mud baths that had at one time been sacred to the Klickitat, but had fallen off the human radar. I was really embarrassed about the choice. I'd had this thing for mud ever since I'd been a kid. If there was mud around, I was in it, and I mean really in it. Mom and Dad couldn't get me to keep my clothes on in the summer, and that invariably meant mom screaming at me for coming in covered head-to-toe in mud with a goofy grin on my face. Sparkplug had a lot of blackmail photos of 5-year-old me in that state.

When I was thirteen, I started having dreams. Some guys have dreams about curvy faceless women and wake with their sheets all wet and sticky. I just had to be the loser whose dreams were about slick mud sliding over my body, covering my face, slowly suffocating me until I saw stars. Sometimes hands were rubbing it on me, sometimes it was just me and the mud.

Hound usually didn't tell me where we were going. Just told me how to pack. He hadn't informed me that I was going to be needing a swimming suit. It wouldn't have been a problem, except that I knew as soon as I slid into the warm, slightly sulfur-smelling mud that I was going to be hard as a rock. Of course, hiding that under the mud or a swimming suit wasn't going to hide it from him. Not cool at all.

I feigned being uncomfortable with getting that dirty. He just gave me the look that was the Autobot equivalent of rolled eyes and slid in, groaning as the warm mud seeped between his plates and into his internals.

"Ratchet is going to reformat you into scooter. You know how hard it will be to clean that out?" I teased him, trying to cover up how nervous and uncomfortable I was.

He just shrugged and slid farther in. "Better than the oilbaths back in Iacon," he sighed, his engine purring.

I kept my clothes on, but stuck my feet in, and that alone was enough to make me get harder than I did the first (and last) time I slow-danced with Carly.

"I'm going to explore a bit," I announced, hoping, pleading that he wouldn't scan me or light up his optics.

"You know, you don't have to be embarrassed about it, Spike," he said in that calm, steady tone. "Nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. Just part of your organic nature. It's one way that we aren't all that different."

"Fuck Hound, not you, too!" I shrieked, knowing, just knowing that I was about to get that _offer_ again, be teased and mocked again, and I just couldn't stand it. I thought that Hound would be like Bee, would understand just how humiliating it was.

His optics lit and he looked at me strangely, then shook his head, and bubbles came up from his vents

"Does it really disgust you that much, when we offer to help?" he asked, sounding a little put off.

What?

"No … I mean … I'm not disgusted. I'm just sick of being teased about it, that's all. I'm a 19-year-old guy, and I'm horny as hell, _all the time_. I can't even look at a woman without imagining her naked, underneath me with her legs wrapped around me. Even my college profs. I just don't need it pointed out all the time." I tried to sound calm, but I was totally pissed off. I was even wondering if somehow Hound knew about my kink, had followed me one of those times I'd snuck off to lie naked face down after a hard rain, pushing myself into the mud until I came.

Hound suddenly starting laughed.

"Primus Spike, you really are dense! No one is teasing you. Mechs are honestly asking you if you want help, because that's what we do for one another when someone needs drain some extra charge in the circuits. Nothing wrong with making a friend feel good. We do it all the time. It means that they see you as a friend, and friends don't let one another get all wound up that way."

I don't know how long I sat there gaping at him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to come up with something to say.

"Take off your clothes and come here," he finally said, laughter in his optics. I don't even remember taking off my shorts or shirt, or sliding in the warm, silky mud. What I remember is that warm, kind look, that smile as he held out his hand and pulled me onto his mud covered lap, my face barely above the surface.

He shifted me up for a moment, and when he sat me back down, there was something hard, warm and smooth between my thighs, up against my erection.

"Holy shit!" I yelped.

"Just relax," he said, his EM doing that thing again, making me feel warm and comfortable. "We're mimics, Spike, and we're always finding new ways to share pleasure. No reason not to learn from those around us. It's an efficient way to overload without having to remove armor, let down firewalls or share sparks. Makes a sense in a war."

I couldn't see what it looked like, just feel that it was large, much much larger than mine. His finger guided my hand toward it and I froze.

"I'm not gay!" I squeaked like a girl, trying to pull back from that smooth heat that felt so good against my own with the mud sliding between us. There was nowhere to go.

"And I'm not human," he said simply, "nor am I a guy."

I looked up at him and there was only that warm smile and laughing optics that always made me feel so good. He was the guardian of my planet. I couldn't have been in safer hands.

With my hand shaking, I found the top of his … whatever it was…and felt its rounded tip, my fingers making out small ridges of some sort.

"Sensors," he said in a low voice that was as seductive as anything I'd ever heard.

"Nothing wrong with sharing pleasure," he said again, this time with a bit more urgency in his tone. Then suddenly he had my arms pinned above my head with one of his hands, and the other hand had circled both of us, keeping them together as he began to gently move, sliding his heat against my own. One of his fingers was vibrating slightly against my cock, while another was gently, so gently massaging my balls. I couldn't believe huge hands that could crush me could be so gentle.

It didn't take long before I was gasping and grunting as I came harder than I thought was humanly possible. Even when I thought I was done, another shiver would run through my cock and it would spurt again. Hound just held me, his engine purring, that EM thing he did making me feel so safe.

"Now was that so bad?" he finally asked, and I was painfully aware that he was still hard, very very hard in between my thighs.

"No," I admitted, grinning like some damn fool. "It wasn't bad at all. But … what about you?"

"Can take care of myself," he said, chuckling. "I like the mud too, you know."

"Yeah … but … I mean we're friends, and you are always so great to me and stuff. Maybe I wouldn't mind taking care of you, since that's what you guys do."

"Well, as long as you don't mind," he teased.

"Um … what should I do? Like, a hand job? I could use both hands," I felt my face turn bright red.

"Want me inside ya?" he asked in his best John Wayne imitation, but I freaked out anyway.

"Are you fucking nuts! You are huge! You'd break me."

Hound started howling with laughter, his whole frame shaking.

"I was just teasin', Spike" he said when he stopped laughing, a single finger patting me on the head and covering my hair in mud. "Hand job is just fine."

"God, don't do that!" I growled at him, but was grinning. At least I wasn't as nervous any more. I looked up again and he gave me a one sided, quirky grin. I lifted my eyebrows, and then reached down and circled both hands around him, right where he came between my thighs, and slid them up his length slowly, squeezing tight because I figured he needed that.

When I got to the top, I let one hand play with those ridges on the tip as the other kept caressing him up and down, up and down, finding more of those ridges along the length. An electric thrill went up my spine each time I felt him quiver, as mechanical sounds of his own language started coming out of his vocalizer. With a finger he pushed my other hand up to his tip, so that both formed a tight circle around it and he began to thrust upward, groaning and creaking. A low rumble started in his chassis and suddenly I could feel the charge pulsing through the thick rod, tingles running up my arms and through my thighs as he shuddered underneath me.

He pulled me up to his chest and held me there under one broad hand, his spark vibrating underneath me, and I lay with a sappy grin.

"They really were just offering to help?" I finally asked. "You aren't shitting me?"

"Really and truly," he said, chuckling again. "Don't be so uptight. Your life is far too short not to get all the pleasure you can."

"Thanks for reminding me, jerk," I said, slapping a handful of mud across his face with a mock frown.

"Anytime," he winked again, pouring a handful of mud over my head.

Even as I spluttered, my heart swelled in my chest, and I thought there wasn't anyone I trusted as much as him. My planet's own guardian, lying with me in the mud, taking care of my puny, fleshy body like he took care of every other creature he came across who needed a hand.

_Notes:_  
* President Reagan's first executive order after his inauguration was the removal of the solar collectors President Carter had ordered installed on the White House. He also cut the aggressive funding Carter had put into alternative energy research, including gutting the Department of Energy's Solar Research Institute and firing most of its staff, two of whom later went on to win Nobel Prizes in other fields. 

** I don't know what the North Pacific Trash Vortex was like in the mid 80s. I made uneducated guesses based on its size and impact today. Today it is the size of Texas and Greenpeace estimates "that over a million sea-birds and one hundred thousand marine mammals and sea turtles are killed each year by ingestion of plastics or entanglement."


End file.
